Question Mark

I don’t know why Question Mark was named the way it was. Does it conjure a question when looking down? Looking up? Both? Honestly, it doesn’t matter. When I am at the Wilderness Lodge, there is hardly a question of which trail I’ll hit. It’s Question Mark.

Built from an old logging road that cuts down the hillside at a 14% slope, it’s not for the faint of heart. It’s also not necessary to be an expert. You just have to have your wits about you and be confident on a pair of skis. Coming up is the real challenge. Most days there’s a set of prints going up the side of the trail from those who don’t even try from the bottom. For those that do though, it’s a fantastic workout that will leave you winded and satisfied in the way that only comes from pushing your body to it’s limit. There’s been more than one occasion when I’ve been going up it in short sleeves when it’s below freezing!

Despite having traversed it dozens of times across the seasons, it’s still different nearly every time. Sometimes it looks different because of the weather, other times it skis different because of the conditions of the snow, and yet other times it feels different because of the exhaustion from getting a good day of exploring in.

There are times when the descent can be described simply as magical, oftentimes late in the evening or approaching the early morning hours. There is a certain rawness to coming down the hillside with the full moon set high in the sky above, especially when accompanied by the bone-chilling cold in the low teens.

One night in particular stands as one of the best ski sessions I’ve had. I got in 8 laps of the hill in the middle of a snowstorm. The ground was perfectly groomed earlier that day, but we had gotten a couple inches of snow in the evening and it created a perfect blanket to carve down in wide, sweeping turns; even on the old rental skis I grabbed on my way out of the building. It was the sort of snowfall that covered my tracks within minutes, giving me a consistently perfect layer of snow to fly down; one lap after another.

In some ways, it’s also a boundary. It keeps the novices and less confident skiers out of some of the more challenging (yet beautiful) terrain, but on the flipside it’s a gateway to that terrain for those of us who dare take on the challenge. The bottom lets out in a little gully and crosses a meandering creek. It feels like a different world than up top. At the top, you can see the lodge. At the bottom, you’re alone and the only way out of there is up!

Whenever I ski the hill, I’m reminded of the cycles and rhythms of life. Up and down, again and again. Always different, but tied together by a shared thread. Seeking the feelings of joy, suffering, whimsy, and accomplishment, I once again turn my ski tips towards Question Mark.